


zephyr and whimsical twilight

by gargalesthesiaaa



Category: Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Ballroom Dancing, Boys Kissing, Childhood Friends, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, I love royalty AUs, Idiots in Love, Knight Clay | Dream (Video Blogging RPF), Late Night Conversations, M/M, Making Out, Mutual Pining, Prince GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Resolved Sexual Tension, Romance, Royalty, Sexual Tension, Suggestive Themes, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, except its under twilight skies, just mild tho nothing too explicit :thumbs up:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-07
Updated: 2021-02-07
Packaged: 2021-03-12 04:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29254464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gargalesthesiaaa/pseuds/gargalesthesiaaa
Summary: “George,” Dream whispers with the reverence one would carry a sonnet, the informal name tumbling out of his chest and into the tender night air. (Which encompassed the two like a satin blanket, the zephyr barely registering in their love hazed minds.)George thinks he could kiss him.Maybe because he’s weak. Because he’s spent his whole life rejecting any suitor his father sent his way. Because he can’t imagine his life without his knight, his Dream by his side.Maybe because this night; this moment, has been long overdue.
Relationships: Clay | Dream/GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 354
Collections: Completed stories I've read





	zephyr and whimsical twilight

**Author's Note:**

> B ITCH TWO POSTS ONE MONTH?????????? (GEORGE PASS ME THE BLUNT,,,, I PAID FOR THE DICK, NOT A FUCKING MANHUNT!!!!!!)
> 
> yeah. you guys are getting fed. ily. ty for all the support.
> 
> ASSSS ALWAYSSSS TYSM TO ALASTAIR (@b1rds0ng) FORRRR EDITTINGGGGGGGGG ILYSSMMMMM
> 
> enjoy this royalty au everyone <333333 hope u like it and we will (hopefully) be back to writing regularly and posting new fics more often now!!

The ball was, by the textbook definition, ‘ _abhorrent_ ’. 

George stands apprehensively to the side of the dance floor, fingers interlaced together tightly with an uninspired look on his face as he watches pairs of nobles float across the expanse of the room. He walks the perimeter of the room slowly with Dream, his knight, trailing after him like a loyal guard dog. A comforting, intransigent presence always arm’s length away in case the night should go awry at any given moment. The knight’s helmet assisted in covering his (very obviously) sour expression at the melodic orchestra that had been repeating the same somber tune for too long. George graciously lets him stay behind for a few minutes, the occasional glance being sent over his shoulder and the barely perceptible nod of assurance coming from Dream.

George's mind wanders quickly in his boredom. He wonders if Dream’s grown a bit of stubble since the last time he had seen him. It’s been months, he recalls, since the knight’s face was exposed to George. As much as he would love to look upon effulgently golden eyes, he knows Dream values privacy above most things. Not one for being boorish, he’ll allow him to show it whenever he deems fit.

His walking slows to a stop near the front of the room, and to the guests, it appears as if he’s free for conversation. (Although, he would much rather step in cow shit then socialize with stuck up duchesses and noblemen.) 

One royal after another, they each parade forward to kiss George’s hand conceitedly. Men gathered around to congratulate him on the successful handling of a battle near the north coastline that his father had been too busy to care about. George looks at them with narrowed eyes and a tight-lipped smile, agreeing with every little thing they had said to keep tensions low. Women curtsied, bowed, offered him a dance, and every time he would decline with no ill intent. It was obviously grating on their nerves and interested the castle staff who were sticklers for gossip, but really, he just couldn’t be bothered to make a fool of himself for some insolent viscountess.

(George knew Dream would never come forth and admit it, but he could feel the knight behind him tense up whenever a meretricious princess made her way over to try a chance with the prince, head looking away slightly in faux indifference.)

It goes like this for a few minutes. People come, they bow in front of George, eye Dream with mild interest, and move on. Rinse and repeat.

George’s heels are starting to ache now. He shifts his stance and raises a hand to beckon Dream forward with a small gesture. He complies immediately, ever obedient, stepping forward and leaning down to hear George’s next words.

They’re a few inches away from being the next scandal, George realizes belatedly. One wrong move and this moment could end up all over papers across the land— The Crown Prince and his knight, spotted just the tiniest bit too close at a ball that His Majesty situated himself.

He keeps staring forward as Dream waits for a command.

“Take me to the garden.” George says, tone leaving no room for argument. He can practically imagine Dream’s eyebrows furrowing, a question on his tongue as to why George would want to leave the ballroom so abruptly.

“ _Now,_ Dream. Need I repeat myself, or shall I get someone else to bring me for you?”

He can hear Dream sigh emphatically at George’s theatrics, and the corner of George’s lips tick up in amusement. 

“No need to be bossy, _Your Highness_ ,” Dream teases lowly, as to avoid anyone overhearing their light banter not fit for a prince and his personal guard. He places a hand on George’s shoulder and leads him towards the grand doors, which they slip out of and into dimly lit corridors.

“Y’know,” Dream muses once they were out of earshot from the ballroom, “I recall liking you better when you were, dare I imply such a thing, _afraid_ of me.” 

George rolls his eyes at the faint memory that pops into his mind. He had just been acquainted with Dream then, when he was around the age of twelve or thirteen. George was just a gangly pre-teen, terrified at the prospect of conversing with anyone but the birds who naturally gathered up on the balcony rail while he read between lessons.

“Really?” He spared Dream a glance from the corner of his eye, eyebrow ticking up in a satirical manner. 

“You were so scrawny back then. No back talk, you watching me from afar— it was a glorious few days,” Dream wheezes slightly at his own joke, and George scoffs, a smile creeping onto his face at the commonplace actions while they round familiar passages.

“ _Hush_ ,” George shoves him with a grin, and the knight doesn't even fake stumble to humour George. He just laughs, straightening his gait and fixing his posture to fix the lazy slouch he had acquired while walking.

They walk side by side, George notes comfortably. He never really fancied the superiority that came with someone walking behind him, especially if they’d been present in his earlier memories. He always enjoyed this more, the companionship that came when Dream matched his pace, their shoulders brushing casually. He felt _seen_ ; less as a prince next in line for the crown and more as someone you’d befriend at the local tavern. 

( _More as a lover_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully.)

They walk through empty hallways, comfortable silence filling the air as they trek to the hedged garden. A grin lingers on George’s face.

George feels the slight breeze before he sees the exit, and walks towards the open archway. 

Dream hums, stopping to take in the expanse of perfectly trimmed bushes and wondrous fountains. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”  
  


“Too long.” George agrees.

“I wonder if I still know the way through the maze,” Dream murmurs idly, walking forward to brush an armour-clad hand against leaves and branches.

George wants Dream to loosen up around him. With a rush of courage, he grabs Dream’s hand, leading him towards the entrance of the labyrinth. 

“Why don’t we find out?” He grins mischievously before pulling them both in quickly. 

Giggles and taunts of ‘ _Oh George!_ ’ fill the silence of the night, the pattering of feet and rustling hedges provide ambiance for the prince and knight, who run through the intricate maze giddily.

They eventually meander their way to the middle of the puzzle unknowingly, twinkling eyes staring at each other with barely contained glee. 

“I believe this means my charm’s still intact,” Dream grins when George laughs ridiculously, fixing his windswept hair on instinct.

“Oh, shut your mouth,” He shoots lightheartedly, adjusting the itchy material and looking around them to the nostalgic area. A small gazebo crowds the middle of the circled hedges, and the trickling of water in a fountain feels familiar to his ears. 

George turns his head around to find molten gold eyes staring right at him anxiously, a gentle smile he hadn’t seen in months finally uncovered by tarnished silver. George tilts his head in question, drinking in the sight of Dream’s face so that he may survive the next drought. He walks forward almost unconsciously, wanting to be closer to the other.

“Hi, Georgie,” Dream teases, placing his helmet onto a marble bench behind him. He pulls his chestplate over his head and moves to untie the rest of the knots keeping his armour together before George’s hand stops him.

“No— let me.” He whispers, covering Dream’s hand with his own.

“Let you what,” Dream asks, like he’s afraid of the answer. Like he’s afraid that if he accepts George’s proposition, the entire world will crash down around them. 

He raises his head to look into George’s heterochromatic eyes hesitantly.

George pauses, just for a moment.

“Let me take care of you.”

Dream exhales in a bare resemblance of a soft laugh, nodding his head and removing his hand from his straps to let George take over.

George starts with Dream’s forearm armour, slowly undoing the tight knots with thin, deft fingers. He slowly slides the metal off, letting it be cradled in his palms. He does the same to the other arm, leaning down to put the armour gently on a marble bench behind them. George moves to the side, working on the shoulder ties. Dream tilts his head slightly, afraid of looking too far and accidentally brushing his lips against George’s.

George's eyes trail down to Dream’s thigh buckle, and Dream laughs. “You don’t have to do that one, George,” He reassures, bending down to start undoing the leather before George’s hands interrupt his actions.

“I want to,” George murmurs, reaching his hands around to fiddle with the clasp before getting it apart. His fingers brush against Dream’s inner thighs, and he thinks he can hear the aforementioned man inhale sharply at the slight contact. He does the same with the other side, crouching on his heels to not fall on his bum in the dirt.

George piles the armour pieces on top of each other again, placing it on the bench. He exhales nervously once he realizes he’ll have to be on his knees to take off the next part of Dream’s armor.

George slowly kneels, looking up to Dream’s starstruck eyes. He would be a fool not to realize the pure love and adoration in the pool of gold. George is quickly lost in the blooms of sanguine emotions, fingers fumbling with the clasp behind Dream’s legs. He can’t bear to rip his eyes away from love-filled irises, and he imagines if Dream reaches down to cradle his face, maybe to swipe a finger over George’s bottom lip. Maybe to clutch a fist in George’s well-kept hair, tugging hard and forcing him to look up.

Fuck, George wants Dream to _ruin_ him.

George fumbles with the armor once it's unclipped, gulping, and finally moves his gaze away to pile the two pieces on top of each other shakily.

He stands up once he deems it finished, and meets Dream’s blown out gaze.

“ _Woah_ ,” Dream sighs breathlessly, and George thinks it was involuntary, with the distracted look in his eyes. George smirks, raising an eyebrow.

  
“Woah?”

“You look,” Dream bites his lip, subconsciously reaching a hand to brush against George’s cheek.

(George definitely does _not_ lean into the tenderhearted touch.)

“Forgive me, Your Highness, for my next words,” The younger whispers. “As they are not fit for a prince and his knight.”

George places a hand on top of Dream’s, pressing it against his cheek and intertwines their fingers.

“But we are not a prince and knight. Not now,” George takes a risk, and presses an amorous kiss on the inside of Dream’s palm, causing the other to sharply inhale. “Not while we’re here, in this garden. Under the stars. You’re free, Dream. You’re free.”

George isn’t a fool. He sees the lingering glances Dream always sends him, the jealousy that was radiating off of him in the ballroom when lady after lady offered George a dance. He had noticed the exaggerated touches, the longful gazes, everything that Dream presumed he didn’t.

He’s not stupid enough to not see the wistful, starstruck stare in Dream’s warm, yellow eyes. Eyes that never failed to keep him entertained, even in the small moments where he actually gets to see them up close. Personal. Just for him.

Dream seems to be bold tonight, as he tentatively sets his hand down on George’s waist and pulls their hips flush together. “You looked _breathtaking_ on your knees.”

And _oh_ , does George’s eyelids flutter at the sensual undertone of the words, and he leans forward until his forehead is resting on Dream’s chest. He can feel the erratic stuttering of his knight’s heart, and he kisses right above the pulse, letting Dream’s other hand fall to his shoulder to squeeze reassuringly. 

“Dance with me, Dream,” George mumbles against fabric, fumbling with his and Dream’s arms to put them in a standard slow dancing position, slipping his fingers through Dream’s and raising his head to look at the taller.

“Anything,” Dream breathes into the pyre, hands adjusting to fit the new shift. He sets the pace to the swaying, (George would say dance, but they’re more moving in place than actually twirling across a ballroom floor,) and belatedly, George realizes that they're so close that they’re practically sharing each other's air right now.

Breathing shallowly, George brushes his lips against Dream’s. He doesn’t dare move another centimeter, for fear that even the slightest movement might break whatever trance they’re in right now. None of them make a move to press forward, just hovering in their spots and enjoying the intimacy of the situation. They keep moving, a steady rhythm. Side to side, side to side, repeated until they can’t resist the urge to kiss the other senseless.

Somehow, it feels more intimate than spreading kisses on bare skin, where scar tissue had billowed over, leaving a faint mark where the wound from reckless protection lay before. 

(The situation had happened already. The hazy memory sits untouched in both of their minds, waiting for conscious thoughts to finally dredge it back up. If the pair addressed it, it would mean tearing down carefully erected boundaries and admitting feelings that they both tried so hard to push away. 

And for some unbeknownst reason, this moment feels softer than that night.)

George’s eyes are half lidded when they finally slow to a stop. Dream holds him close to his chest, and they stand together under the ivory moon.

George thinks about love.

He looks up to intricate gold eyes for what seems to be the millionth time that night, and, as always, they’re staring at him with as much adoration a follower has to a god.

That was exactly what they were, what they used to be, George’s mind used to think. A problematic superiority complex and learned poise had clouded his vision from believing they were anything but a prince and his loyal knight.

Dream was the breeze that blew away the fog, a sun shining through dense clouds, the simple melody that kept George grounded throughout all of his mindsets with carefully said banter and calculated quips.

Dream never failed to provide his prince with a clarity George didn't know he possessed. 

After all they’ve been through, George doesn’t think Dream needs to address him so highly anymore. George accepted long ago that they, as unusual as it sounds, were equals. 

A simple brown haired prince and his devoted guard, doomed to meet each other in separate lifetimes again and again. 

George’s heart isn’t big enough for the love he carries for his knight.

“ _George_ ,” Dream whispers with the reverence one would carry a sonnet, the informal name tumbling out of his chest and into the tender night air. (Which encompassed the two like a satin blanket, the zephyr barely registering in their love hazed minds.)

George thinks he could kiss him.

Maybe because he’s weak. Because he’s spent his whole life rejecting any suitor his father sent his way. Because he can’t imagine his life without his knight, _his_ Dream by his side.

Maybe because this night; this moment, has been long overdue.

And so, in the muted tones of twilight and twinkling specks of stardust in the sky, he takes a chance and leans up, the brush of their lips (a spark of a flame) turning into a firm press, _finally,_ (the burning inferno), intimacy shrouding George’s vision as he keeps pushing forward. 

A whimper rises in his throat at the long-awaited touch as he keens into Dream’s chest, hands wandering. Dream drops his hands away from George's to place them on bony hips, pulling him _closer, closer, closer._ George runs his hands up dream’s arms towards his neck, stilling there.

It’s minutes until they finally pull away, staying close and panting. George has to force his eyes open, and Dream looks positively frazzled. It makes George feel warm that _he_ was the one who made Dream look like that.

Before George can say something, anything, Dream captures his lips in another, frantic kiss, knocking him back a few steps with his urgency. George squeaks in surprise, hands accidentally tightening against Dream’s neck. They scramble for any sort of purchase, and he kisses back with the same fervency Dream shows.

The kiss has increased in tempo easily, their tongues tangling together passionately. It feels wrong in all the right ways, and downright _sinful_ , when George breaks their lips apart and strokes Dream’s tongue with his own in open air. 

Little sounds are admitting from both of their throats now, involuntary and soft. George breaks away reluctantly, trying to catch his breath.

“Do you want to know what I want, Dream?” The rough words said against bitten red lips burn flames in Dream’s heart, the whispered melody digging deep into his mind and dragging up hidden desires that threaten to eat him alive with each low syllable. George runs his hands up from Dream’s waist, up his back, up his neck, farther and farther until both of his hands are clenched in Dream’s hair, hauling him back in for a bruising kiss. 

“I wish for you to stop touching me like I’m a porcelain doll.” George growls against his lips, and Dream shudders at the implication, body pressed into George’s. “I want you to please me like I know you want to.” 

George tugs at Dream’s hair, not letting him respond. “ _Rough_ ,” He whispers, dropping a hand down to Dream’s to tighten it against his hips, “ _Commanding_ ,” He leans back enough so there's a sliver of space between their mouths, breathing heavily into Dream’s open mouth and glaring into entranced yellow eyes. “ _Enthralled._ ”

Dream huffs, taking one of his hands that was previously on George’s hip to yank on George’s hair, causing the prince to loosen his grip and let out a strangled gasp. Dream places heated, open-mouthed kisses to George’s exposed neck. He quivers under Dream’s attention, hands scrambling for purchase, eventually gripping onto the other’s shoulders pathetically.

“ _You_ ,” Dream breathes, hand massaging slow circles into the skin of George’s hip. “Need to learn when to stop talking.”

  
  
“Ah — dare I say it— _fuck_ , Dream, _make me._ ”

Dream blinks, vision turning hazed before diving forward and capturing George’s lips. His hands encompass George’s face in a safe warmth, the perfect mix between passionate and gentle being achieved. George couldn’t feel any giddier, floating in the clouds, not reaching the ground anytime soon— not like he wanted to anyways.

Smiling into the kiss, George backs up a millisecond to look at _his_ lover, _his_ knight, _his_ Dream, (isn’t that exciting?). Dream’s eyes crinkle in the corner, expression visibly going vulnerable. 

And as George pulls him close, tells Dream to take him to his chambers, he lets himself enjoy this one night with the only one he wants to be with in this whimsical moment. 

**Author's Note:**

> can u guys tell i really like writing from george's pov
> 
> ANYWAYS I HOPE U LIKED IT??? I RLLY. I RLLY RLLY LOVED WRITING THIS I WONT LIE JUST BECAUSE IT WAS NICE TO PLAY AROUND WITH FORMAL WORDING AND DIFFERENT DIALOGUE OPTIONS
> 
> THANK YOU, SO SO MUCH FOR READING!!!! CHECK ME OUT ON MY SOCIALS HERE, COME SCREAM WITH ME ABOUT DNF/KARLNAP/SBI/WHATEVER U'D LIKE :DDDDDD
> 
> [twitter](https://twitter.com/m3llohiii)  
> [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/nqther)  
> [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/netherwastaken/)


End file.
